


To Trust Again

by jakia



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Caleb and Essek confronting the fact that they are not so different from Trent and Ludinus, Caleb's entire backstory, Conversation Fic, Essek spins conspiracy theories about consecution and the dynasty higher ups, Gen, M/M, boys are slightly ineberated but nothing happens, can be read as pre-shippy or frendship, implied abusive/distant parents, scandalous platonic handholding, spectulation on Essek's backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:01:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25152865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jakia/pseuds/jakia
Summary: "How about this?" Caleb says to Essek. "You tell me everything. I tell you everything. And perhaps by the time the sun rises, we may trust one another again."Essek raises an eyebrow. “And the alcohol?”“For courage. I imagine the things we must talk about are not spoken of easily.”[Caleb, Essek, and a revelation of backstories. Can be read as pre-shippy or as friendship.]
Relationships: Essek Thelyss & Caleb Widogast, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 8
Kudos: 246





	To Trust Again

**Author's Note:**

> First little bit is some in-person fun before transitioning fully into the character's headspace, but can be skipped if that's not yours cup of tea.
> 
> This fic is the culmination of everything that I want out of canon at the moment, which is literally: Caleb and Essek sit down and talk to each other, *please.*
> 
> All of Essek's backstory is pure speculation, beyond the fact that he does canonically have a brother named Verin.

_**Matt** : After Traveler-con, you guys said you are going to sail with the crew back to Nicodranas? _

_**Travis** : Yes. We want a little down time. Some time to relax a little bit and figure out what our next plan is. _

_**Matt** : Okay then. In the interest of time, I’ll say not much happens in the two weeks you are at sea. Well, actually, *rolls a dice* One day you get a visitor. _

_**Laura** : Is it Essek??? Did he bring me cupcakes??? _

_**Matt** : He did. Essek teleports on deck with a giant box of cupcakes. He must have bought out half a bakery, you think, looking at all the sweets he brought you. _

_**Laura** : I give him a giant hug. _

_**Matt** : He like, awkwardly pats your back. _

_**Laura** : I give him one of those hugs that last way too long again. _

_**Matt** : Strangely, he doesn’t fight you on it. *laughs* Okay, so other than Essek appearing for a day, who else wants to-- _

_**Liam** : I would like to do something while Essek is there, Matt. _

_**Matt** : Go for it. _

_**Liam** : ...How difficult is it to acquire alcohol on this ship? _

_**Sam** : You want liquor, Lebby? I can hook you up-- _

_**Liam** : I do not want Veth to know I’m looking for liquor. _

_**Sam** : *frowny face* _

_**Matt** : Well, you’ve been at sea for a while, so they haven’t had much of a chance to restock...why don’t you roll me an investigation check? _

_**Liam** : 16. _

_**Matt** : Alright. It takes a little bit to ask around, but eventually Orly tells you that Marius would be the person you’d need to speak to. _

_**Liam** : Then I will speak to Marius. _

_**Matt** : He doesn’t have much in stock, but he has a bottle or two that he’d be willing to sell to you. _

_**Liam** : What is it? Wine? _

_**Matt** : Oh, it’s rum. It’s incredibly strong, and it smells terrible, and it’s in one of those old fashioned glass bottles-- _

_**Taliesin** : Like the old Coca Cola bottles? _

_**Matt** : Exactly! _

_**Liam** : How much does he want for it? _

_**Matt** : Well, it’s one of the last bottles he has, and you are still several days away from port. He’d sell it to you for 50 gold. _

_**Travis** : 50 gold??? For shitty rum? _

_**Liam** : I buy it. Is Essek still on the ship? _

_**Matt** : He is. _

_**Laura** : He’s with me! I am making him try different flavors of cupcakes and rank them with me. _

_**Matt** : Right now he is arguing with you over cupcake flavors. _

_**Laura** : “But the blueberry ones are so good, Essek!” _

_**Matt** : “...I believe they are a bit too sweet for me. Certainly the vanilla is a more classic flavor--” _

_**Liam** : “I hope I am not interrupting anything.” _

_**Laura** : “Caleb! Do you want a cupcake?” _

_**Liam** : “No thank you. Maybe later. May I borrow Essek for a moment?” _

_**Matt** : “Certainly.” He turns back to Jester and smiles. “We will have to finish this another time.” _

_**Liam** : I drag Essek into the Captain’s quarters with me. _

_**Marisha** and **Ashley** : *intense eyebrow wiggling* _

_**Laura** and **Sam** : *making crude hand gestures* _

_**Travis** : “I was just looking over the map, and I--oh, uh, I guess I’ll leave now??” _

* * *

“That would be a good idea. Thank you, Fjord.”

Once Fjord leaves, a little awkwardly, Essek brushes his robes off slightly. In spite of his best efforts, there seems to be some sugar residue still sticking to him. “You wished to speak with me?”

“Do you have the time?”

“I--believe so, but it will depend on what you need,” Essek rubs his hands together nervously. “I am not needed for the next few hours, at least.”

“Good,” Caleb says. From out of nowhere, he pulls out a bottle of liquor and sets it on the table. Walking over to the cupboard, he pulls out two small glasses and sets them on the table beside the bottle. When he sits down in a nearby chair, he does so loudly and solidly, like he does not intend to move for several hours. “Please, sit.”

Essek raises an eyebrow. “Are we drinking?”

“We are conversing,” Caleb explains as Essek sits, delicately, in the chair opposite of him. “Things have changed between us, and as busy as we’ve been with the Nein, I’ve not had a chance to speak with you about it. I am--I do not _trust_ you anymore, Essek.”

Essek looks down at his own hands, folded into his lap carefully, guilt on his face. “I know.”

“I _want_ to trust you. I do. When I said we were friends, I genuinely meant it,” Caleb explains, popping the lid off of the bottle of rum, pouring himself a drink. He does not pour much into the glass--barely more than a shot--but he would rather be cautious than zealous with the brown liquor. He then offers the glass to Essek instead before pouring a second glass for himself. “But I--the Cerberus Assembly _hurt_ me, dearly.”

“I know.”

“You don’t, though,” Caleb grimaces. “Not really. And I realized--when we were at Traveler-con, it occurred to me that you _don’t_ know what happened to me. And that I don’t know what happened to you. We come from different cultures and different societies--you do not _know_ the Assembly like I do. And I do not know your world enough to say whether or not you were justified in stealing the Beacons. So how about this?" He says to Essek, holding his glass up to Essek so that their glasses may _clink_ together. "You tell me everything. I tell _you_ everything. And perhaps by the time the sun rises, we may trust one another again."

Essek raises an eyebrow. “And the alcohol?”

“For courage. I imagine the things we must talk about are not spoken of easily.”

“You aren’t wrong,” Essek whispers, and together they down their glasses of rum in a single shot. The alcohol burns as it goes down, and he coughs a little after he finishes. “That is _terrible_.”

“It is pretty bad,” Caleb coughs as well. “But, ah, not a lot of options at sea.”

“Fair,” Essek coughs again, and hopes that his throat stops burning. “I suppose you’d like me to go first?”

“If you’d like.” Caleb crosses his legs. “I could speak first if you prefer--”

“No,” Essek shakes his head. “I am the one on trial here. I should tell my story first.”

A strange trial, but perhaps not an unfair comparison. No doubt Essek must have spent many a night thinking about being on trial, and what he would say in his defense, should such an occasion ever occur. Still, Caleb doesn’t want him to feel attacked or unwelcomed here, and so he finds he blinks at him slowly. “You aren’t on trial.”

“Aren’t I?” Essek fiddles a bit with his glass, unwilling to pour himself another drink when the first still burns in his belly. They are quiet for a moment as Essek considers his words carefully. “I suppose the first thing you should know is that I’ve always been a disappointment to my parents. Even before I betrayed my country.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow. “A strong opening statement from the defendant.”

“Oh, hush,” Essek grins before continuing to explain himself. “I am on my first life. My mother is an _umavi_ , a--a perfect soul. She is not a warm or friendly person, and she has lived too long to care much about her progeny. What is the difference between me and the hundreds of other children she has had over the course of thousands of years? I showed a lot of talent as a child, and as such she spent my entire childhood waiting for me to wake up and realize I was someone else, and when I never did, well,” he scratches his nose. “By then it was too late. I was grown, and had no relationship with her. And my father--” he scoffs a little bit at that, his nose scrunched in displeasure. “Well, I was never the son he wanted. Even as a child he was disappointed in me. I wasn’t tall enough, or strong enough, or interested in swords and battle the way he was. My father had been a general in the Bright Queen’s army for three lifetimes now, and he did not appreciate having such a--” Essek scowls at the memory. “ _Prissy_ son, in his words.”

Caleb winces at Essek’s language and knows there is more there to the story that Essek isn’t telling, but that Caleb could guess, and for a moment he feels a burst of appreciation for his own father, who didn’t understand him but at least was always kind about it. Leofric Urmendrud had many flaws, but cruelty and dismissal towards his son was never among them. “I am sorry to hear that.”

“He got better when my brother got older, and Verin was more like what my father expected his son to be, but we still didn’t have a very good relationship,” he looks over at Caleb closely, silvered eyes examining him. “When I said the Mighty Nein were the first people I’ve ever really cared about, I _meant_ it.”

Caleb pours himself another drink. “I know.”

“I grew up with a distant mother and a father who disapproved of everything I did, simply because I wasn’t the son he wanted. I--I started floating originally _to make myself taller._ Because I thought if I were taller then maybe I could be the son my father wanted,” Essek says quietly. “Because I was small and kind of sickly as a child, and my younger brother grew taller than me before either of us hit puberty, so I invented a new magical spell in order to try and gain some sort of approval from my father. I know it’s not an excuse--none of it excuses what I’ve _done_ \--but I hope it helps explain, somewhat.”

“It does.”

“When my father died, I still mourned his loss, though. I was _angry_ at him for dying, and I felt guilty and responsible for his death. We had gotten into a screaming match a few days before his death--a common occurrence between the two of us--and he stormed the house after our argument and headed straight out to his work, which had left him unprepared for going into the Bazzozan, and, well, he didn’t come home,” Essek takes a moment to pour himself another shot of the foul tasting rum. “This was--five, maybe six years ago? And my mother--she didn’t have the reaction to my father’s death that I expected.”

“She wasn’t upset?”

“No. She was so _calm_ about it-- _he’s with the Light now, Essek_ , and _we will see him again, by the Luxon’s will_. The only other person who seemed to mourn our father was Verin, but he wasn’t much comfort to me. Before my father’s death, I hadn’t thought much at all about consecution, beyond that it was a part of my people’s culture. But after my _Ilharn’s_ death I--I suppose I became obsessed with it.”

“Hence, stealing a beacon.”

“Eventually.”

Instead of drowning his glass in one shot, he takes a small sip of it, in hopes that helps the taste (it doesn’t). 

“No one _mourned_ my father,” Essek scowls, setting his glass down with sudden heat. “They didn’t care that he was gone, because he would be back. I _hated_ my father, but he didn’t deserve to just be _forgotten._ And everyone I spoke to said the same thing as my mother--’oh, he’ll be back, Essek,’ or ‘the Luxon is with him now, Essek.’ They didn’t care that the man who raised me was _gone_ . Sure, he may come back in a decade or so, but he would be _different_. Born of a different den, a different family--maybe even a different race or gender. He wouldn’t be Rylar Thelyss anymore; Rylar Thelyss would just be another person who he _used_ to be, and no one seemed to care about that.”

For a brief moment, Caleb thinks about his own parents. He thinks about them coming back, but as somebody different--maybe as goblins, like how Veth used to be, or drow like Essek. He feels temporarily joyed at the thought, but then he thinks about how strange that must feel. They would not know him. Well, they _would_ , but it would be so different, then. He would be older than them, and younger, at the same time. He reaches out and squeezes Essek’s shoulder before he thinks better of it, hoping the drow appreciates the feeling of comfort. “I cannot imagine, Essek. I am so sorry.”

“I--I do not mean to get so emotional,” Essek said calmly, offering Caleb a soft smile. “And I am getting a little off track.”

“Not at all,” Caleb muses, leaning back into his chair. “The point of this conversation is for you and I to understand one another. And I understand how losing your father might’ve been the first step to you seeking out the Cerberus Assembly.”

Essek bites his bottom lip. “After my father’s death, I wanted to know more about consecution. Everyone told me to turn to the Luxon and pray, but I have never been a religious man. That advice may have worked for Verin, but I did not want to pray to the Luxon--I wanted answers about what would happen to my father’s soul, literally, and no one could give them to me,” he shook his head. With a sharp look in his eye, he locks his eyes with Caleb, and offers him a half-smile, a look meant to be comforting. “I did not jump to treason right away.”

“Of course not,” Caleb returns his grin with a little more teeth. “I did not suspect you had.”

“I _tried_ to find information legitimately. I spoke to the priests at the church. I studied at the Marble Tomes, every book they would allow me to study. I even tried to have a legitimate conversation with my _mother,_ a supposed perfect soul, and do you know what I learned?” Essek smiles sharply, a bit of his fang poking through his lips. “ _None of them knew._ Literally _no one_ knew how consecution works. Oh, they could tell me the mechanics of the ritual, sure, but no one could tell me _why_ it worked, or how. No one could explain the arcane behind the divine.” 

With a sudden impulse, Essek snaps his fingers, rubbing between them a bit of phosphorescent moss, and one of his many rings begin to glow. “I can explain how this spell works,” he says. “I can tell you that with a bit of moss, or perhaps a firefly, or the use of an arcane focus, when combined with the correct memorization and the correct words, opens a temporary channel to the quasi-elemental plane of lightning, and produces a harmless bolt of lightning trapped in an object that gives off a glow of light to improve vision. But _no one_ \--not my professors, not the priests, not even the highest, most educated people in the Dynasty could--or were _willing--_ to explain to me how consecution worked. And it struck me, after months of intense study, that no one in my culture had ever asked these questions before. Or if they had, they had not been allowed to publish them. And if they had been allowed to ask these questions, then no one had ever allowed them to seek out an answer. And if they had gotten answers, then those answers were not to be found in the Dynasty.”

Essek lets his thoughts stew for a moment before continuing: “Impetuously, I wrote to the Bright Queen and asked for permission to study the Beacons. We have spent generations as a culture worshiping these artifacts as pieces of a _god_ , but we have no hard factual evidence of that beyond what people believe. My sister--she’s a priest of the Luxon--told me she got her powers from her faith, but her god never spoke to her,” Essek blinked wildly at Caleb. “Isn’t that _insane_? Aren’t the gods supposed to answer your questions? I’ve never once had much faith in religion as an institution but I cannot imagine asking a question and receiving _nothing_ in return.”

Except that he could, Caleb thinks suddenly. Essek spent so long asking questions of the Luxon and the Bright Queen, and no one ever answered him. It’s what led him to steal a Beacon, Caleb thinks.

“I do not know much about how the magic of the divine works,” Caleb admits instead. “Like you, I’m not one for spiritual pursuits. But I know Jester’s god talks to her--perhaps _too_ often. And I know the Wildmother speaks to Caduceus, and Fjord, and answers their prayers.”

“ _Exactly!”_ Essek practically shrieks, louder than he means to. “Who says the Luxon is even a god? For all we know, really, it could just be a series of powerful objects from the Age of Arcana, and we’ve just ascribed divinity to it where there is none.”

The actual supposed divinity of the Luxon is not a concern of Caleb’s, although he is a bit surprised by Essek’s reaction. Perhaps, he thinks, swirling the amber liquid in his cup, the alcohol is affecting him.

“The Bright Queen,” Caleb sips his drink, changing the subject briefly. “I’m guessing she didn’t let you study the Beacon?”

“ _No_ ,” Essek laughs. “In fact, I think she made me the Shadowhand in part so I would be so busy that I would stop asking such questions.”

Caleb chuckles. “Hasn’t stopped you yet.”

“No,” Essek agrees. “In fact, I’ve never understood _why_ she wouldn’t let me study them. If not me personally, then someone else, surely. A soul she trusted, or a soul she had spent centuries with, or _someone._ With proper study, we would have _answers_. We would understand. Maybe consecution wouldn’t have to be reserved for the privileged few, but could be something anyone could attain. Or if it is the work of a god--at least then we would know for certain.”

“I suppose after the Bright Queen refused your request for study, you contacted the Assembly?”

“Not at first,” Essek confesses. “At first, I tried to just let it be. I tried to move on with my life, and with my new job. But then a year passed, and then another, and I _couldn’t_. I couldn’t let it go,” he downs the rest of the rum with one drink. “I wrote to the Arcana Pansophical first, actually, to see if they had ever encountered artifacts such as the Beacons before. What were the odds that the bodies of a god were to be found only in Wildemont, after all?”

“I’ve not dealt with the Arcana Pansophical before, actually,” Caleb leans forward, curious now. “Did they respond?”

“Yes, actually, to my surprise. They said that they had not ever come across an object like that which I described, which--struck me as _odd_ , you know,” he takes a small sip of his glass. “The drow--we are originally from the Underdark, which is in Tal’dorei. We migrated from there thousands of years ago. According to legend, the original drow escaped the cult of Lolth the Spider Queen with the Light of the Luxon guiding them to Wildemont, which eventually led to the founding Xhorhas. My mother, along with the Bright Queen, were among them in their first lives, which is part of what makes them _umavi,_ ” Essek leans back into his seat. “And yet there are no Beacons in Tal’dorei, at least as far as their highest magical society knows. Isn’t that curious?”

“I think,” Caleb takes another sip of his drink. “We are getting a little distracted.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Essek laughs, the rum stronger than what he’s used to. “I’m sorry. You are the first person I’ve had a chance to share these thoughts with that I know isn’t going to have me branded a heretic and cast out for treason.”

“We can discuss the Beacons more later, if you’d like,” Caleb offers, because he understands the loneliness in which Essek describes. “I admit, I am fascinated by them myself. But I would like to know how you came to work for the Cerberus Assembly.”

“Mmm,” Essek agrees, taking another sip of his drink. “Well, Marquet does not have a magical society, at least as far as I can tell. Vasselheim _detests_ the arcane, which left me only one avenue to look towards for assistance.”

“The Empire,” Caleb answers for him. “And therefore, the Assembly.”

They are quiet for a moment, just the gentle waves of the ship keeping them company. Caleb finds himself leaning backwards in his seat and staring out the window for a moment, afraid to speak, instead letting Essek have the time to find the words he wishes to say. Caleb is grateful for the quiet night outside--there are no storms, thankfully, and so far, no dragon-turtles, and no fish people come to attack them. A good night for conversation.

“It was their idea to steal a Beacon,” Essek says quietly, out loud for perhaps the first time ever. In the silence of the ship Caleb has to strain slightly to even hear his words, he speaks so quietly. But he hears them regardless. “They--Ludinus was very kind to me, at first. At first I had merely inquired whether or not they had ever come in contact with objects like these before. I did not even let him know that I was Kryn--I wrote as though I were a concerned Imperial citizen. He told me that the Cerberus Assembly had not come across objects like these in the past, but that if I had such an object, I should turn it into them for study.”

The taste of the rum is particularly bitter in Caleb’s mouth. “Yeah, that tracks.”

“At first, I was unsure how to respond, and for a long time, I didn’t,” Essek admits. “Then, I decided I needed more information about the Assembly.”

“And what you were told were lies, I’m certain,”

“Based on your reaction? Most likely,” Essek shakes his head. “He told me they were a _school_ for magical learning and arcane research. Not unlike the Marble Tomes, where I once studied.”

A school. Soltryce Academy is indeed a school, but the Cerberus Assembly is so much _more_ than that. “That’s not wrong,” Caleb says quietly. “But not the whole truth.”

“No,” Essek agrees before sighing deeply. “I wrote him back and told him that I did not have the artifact--that it belonged to someone else--and he wrote me back to suggest that I steal it,” Essek picks up his glass, to take another small sip. “In hindsight, that was perhaps a red flag, but at the time I just saw it as--” he takes a deep breath. “An opportunity.”

“Hmm.”

“I would have suggested the same thing,” Essek confesses. “If I had been in Ludinus’s shoes. If a young person had asked for advice on what to do with a powerful magical object, I would have said the same thing. Steal it, give to me to allow me to study it.” Essek drowns the last of his glass, the second of the night, and sets it on the table harder than he intends to. “He and I are not so different. Not as much as I would like for us to be.”

Once upon a time, Caleb had felt the same way about Trent Ikithon. Trent had been his mentor, his teacher, someone Bren had admired a great deal. Of course he saw similarities between Trent and himself; when he had been young, that had been one of the things that helped convince him that he was on the right track. Trent was only doing what Bren would do; Bren would torture people, if it meant learning something knew. Bren would shove crystals into his student’s arms, if it meant furthering their magical knowledge and prowess. Such losses at the time were justified for the glory of the Empire and the progress of knowledge and power.

He would like to think now that Caleb wouldn’t do such things, that he has learned from his previous mistakes, but, ah, it is hard to say for sure.

They are quiet together, drinking and stewing in their own thoughts for the moment, shaken by the idea that they are not so different from the men they’ve promised to stop. Essek pours a third glass of rum, and Caleb finishes his second, and they have perhaps drank too much too fast, for these dark thoughts to linger in them.

“We are not them,” Caleb says, breaking the silence. “We do not _have_ to be them. We--we may have been taught such things, we may have once believed as they do but _we can do better_. We are agents of our own fates, and we can decide to become better than them, to do better. Or at the very least, we must try.”

Essek’s eyes soften. “You really believe that?”

“I do. I have to. What other choice is there? To believe that we are damned? That there is no hope for us, no redemption to come from the mistakes we’ve made? I could not survive if that were the case. I could not live with myself. I can barely live with myself now.”

Essek sips the rum slowly, as if it were a fine expensive wine, meant to be savored. 

A thought occurs to Caleb, an elephant in the room they’ve not addressed. “You did not even think about starting a war when you stole the Beacons, did you?”

“War was inevitable,” Essek shakes his head. “The Dynasty and the Empire were always going to come to blows over _something_ \--”

“But you were the breaking point,” Caleb turns to him. “ _You_ were the spark that caused the whole thing to burst--”

“Funny story,” Essek interrupts, his eyes sharp like broken glass as he stares Caleb down. “I stole the Beacon three years ago, and the war didn’t break out until two years later. In fact, the war only started when neither side could find the artifact because it was hiding in a little tiefling’s pink backpack of holding,” Essek spits, venom in his voice. “So while I do not deny my actions nor do I deny the consequences of them, please, do stop acting as though I personally caused the war alone.” He folds his legs carefully so that his legs are crossed, knee over knee while he waits for Caleb’s response. “I am but _one_ piece of a much grander chess game. Do stop acting like I am a queen when I am, at best, a bishop.”

Fair enough; Caleb bites his lips. “ _Sheisse._ I am sorry, Essek.”

“It’s fine, I--” Essek licks his lips. “I’ve been wanting to say that to Beau and Veth each time they’ve snapped at me. I did not mean to try it out first on you,” Essek sets his nearly empty glass of rum down on the table. “I think I am done drinking, for the evening. Do you have any water?”

“Ja,” Caleb pulls the waterskin from his belt, and stands to get another glass. The rum is stronger than he thinks, as he looks in the mirror beside the cabinet and notes the red flush to his face. “If you wish to go home for the evening--”

“Not unless you wish me to leave,” Essek says, suddenly shy compared to how vocal he was earlier. “I--I believe you said that we were to talk until we trusted one another, no?” He leans forward slightly, legs still crossed as Caleb pours from his waterskin. “Do you not also have a story to tell?”

Caleb sits down slowly. “I do. It is not a fun or happy story, but it,” he bites his lips. “Perhaps it will explain, if nothing else, why I distrust the Assembly so.”

Essek nods in agreement, but doesn’t speak. Instead, he lets Caleb gather his breath and his thoughts, his hands rubbing at sore knees as he thinks.

“I had a good relationship with my parents,” he decides to start, because it is easier than the alternative, easy to mirror Essek’s story with his own. “They were farmers in the Empire, and we were very poor. When I was young--still a child, but, ah, older, a wizard visited our village, and decided that I had the aptitude to learn magic. He invited myself and two other children in our village to go to the school to learn magic, and so I left home at fifteen to attend school at Soltryce Academy, in Rexxentrum.”

“Fifteen?” Essek repeats, barely a whisper. “You were just a baby.”

Caleb cannot help but smirk in response. “Humans age differently, my friend. I was practically grown.”

“A _baby_.” Essek says, undeterred. “I could cast a few cantrips at fifteen, and that made me a prodigy in my society. You were fifteen, and you _left home_ to go to _school_ to learn magic,” Esssek shakes his head. “No wonder you humans are considered so industrious.”

“We have to be,” Caleb chuckles. “We don’t have as much time as you elves do.”

“True, I suppose,” Essek grins. “Imagine what you’d manage to figure out if you did, though?”

“You are distracting me.”

“I don’t mean to,” Essek laughs lightly. “Sorry, please, continue. You went to school at fifteen.”

“Yes, and I studied very hard there, because I wanted to make sure my place there was earned. Eventually, I and my two friends earned the attention of one of our teachers, Master Ikithon, who wanted to train us for--special work.”

“Scouragers,” Essek guesses.

“Yes. We were--assassins, I suppose, is the best description, although we merely saw ourselves as an extension of the Empire’s will,” Caleb takes a drink. “If it kept our country safe, then anything we did was justified.” Caleb fiddles with his glass, his thumb tracing the edge of the cup in a circular fashion. “We killed people. Imperial citizens, and captured spies from elsewhere,” Drow, he doesn’t say, but knows Essek can guess. “We would torture them for information. We spied on people, lied to them, seduced them if we had to--all to learn whatever information Ikithon thought was necessary. We would hurt ourselves, even--we performed magical experiments on each other, unethical tests of the potentials found in magic. And we believed ourselves to be--not _heroes_ , necessarily, but doing necessary work. Good work. We did horrible, awful things, but they were things that needed to be doing, and so it was a sacrifice we had to make for the good of the Empire.”

“And you were fifteen,” Essek echoes him from earlier, his eyes sadder than Caleb knows how to read. “A baby.”

“More like seventeen, at this point in the story,” Caleb grimaces. “But yes.”

“What changed?” Essek asks, unfolding his leg so that it swings freely under him. “Something must have changed for you?”

“We--we were not _volstruker_ then, but we were in training, and there was a final exam we still needed to take. Ikithon sent us home to see our families, and when we were there, we learned a horrible truth,” Caleb avoids looking at Essek. “We learned that our parents were traitors to the Empire. My good, kind, simple farmer parents, were planning treason against the king.”

The gears click for Essek, and his jaw drops slightly. “He modified their memories?” Essek speculates. “Or-- _oh._ ” he frowns, his mouth tight. “ _Your_ memory.”

“Yes. Although I did not learn until many years later that the memories in my head were false,” Caleb says slowly, his voice soft and low. “I believed my parents were traitors to the Empire. And for that crime, the punishment was death.”

Essek doesn’t speak; instead, he leans forward in his seat, listening intently. 

“Astrid killed her parents first,” Caleb says slowly. “Poison. She made them dinner, and fed it to them. Then we dealt with Eodwulf’s parents, and then, finally, it was my turn.” He blinks, and then waves his hand, so that a spark of flame appears at his fingertips, illuminating the room. “I have always been drawn to the flame, and so we locked them into the house, and I set in ablaze.”

Essek sucks in his breath. “ _Caleb_.”

“Something--something inside me broke, in that moment. Mentally. I failed my exam, and I was then institutionalized. I spent the next eleven years--”

“ _Eleven_ **_years?_ **” Essek gasps. 

“--Let me finish,” Caleb shakes his head. “Eleven years in the asylum, where I was broken, mentally. There was a woman in the asylum. She helped-- _fix me,_ for lack of a better word. She fixed my memories, gave me my mind back. I learned the truth then--that my parents were innocent of the crimes for which I had murdered them for, and I escaped the asylum,” he looks back up at Essek. “And I have been running ever since.”

Essek’s eyes soften. “With the Mighty Nein.”

“Yes. We keep each other safe,” Caleb leans back in his seat, trying to relax a bit now that his past has been exposed as such. “So you understand, now, when I learned that you were working with the Cerberus Assembly, why my reaction was a bit--visceral.” 

“Bit of an understatement,” Essek shakes his head. “Honestly, I am--impressed that you can be as kind as you were, given--given what you’ve been through.”

“Well, like I said,” Caleb says quietly. “We are not so different, you and I.”

“I don’t know,” Essek shakes his head, looking down at his hands. “I wanted answers, and I was willing to trust people I didn’t know that well to get them, even if it might spark a war. You--”

“I wanted information, and so I killed and tortured people because I thought it was better for my country,” Caleb cocks his head to the side. “Or did you forget that part of the story?”

“No, I didn’t. But Caleb, you _suffered_ for your crimes--”

“Not enough,” Caleb argues. “Suffering--it doesn’t _fix_ anything,” Caleb shakes his head. “Me _suffering_ for eleven years didn’t bring my parents back. If we were to put you in prison for your crimes, what would that do? It wouldn’t undo the war.” He says quietly, less at Essek and more recounting an argument he’s had in his mind. “Are you going to work with them still? The Assembly? Now that you know--”

“ _No._ ” Essek shakes his head. “Gods, Caleb, _no_. I wouldn’t have--” he bites at his lip. “You are my friend. You could have just said ‘hey you shouldn’t work for the Assembly’ and I likely would have stopped.”

“Oh,” Caleb looks down, sheepishly. “I didn’t know that.”

“I have so many _questions_ ,” Essek says, fascination in his voice. “You said your mind broke? _How?_ Were you--was it a _feeblemind_ spell? And eleven years is _so long_ , especially for _humans._ Who was the woman who cured you? Why didn’t she try and cure you sooner, if you were in there for so long? And your parents--” Essek shakes his head. “What benefit does the Empire have in killing their own citizens? What is the _purpose_ in that? And--you said there were magical experiments? What _kind?_ To what end--”

“All very good questions,” Caleb shakes his head. “Most of which I don’t have a good answer for. But it is getting very late.”

Essek nods with understanding. “I should be getting back to my tower.”

“Yes, and I am certain the rest of the Nein would like me to put up the dome,” he looks over at the door with suspicion. “Assuming they are not all outside the door, listening right now.”

“Don’t be silly,” Essek smiles softly. “As soon as they realized we weren’t making out, I’m sure they lost interest.”

“Oh, certainly.”

They stand together at the same time, a little awkwardly in front of one another before Essek leans forward and grabs Caleb’s shoulders, and squeezes them gently. “I’m sorry, that you suffered so much at the hands of the Assembly,” Essek says. For a brief moment, Caleb thinks that Essek is going to hug him, but Essek doesn’t move behind squeezing his shoulders. “And I am sorry, for whatever part I might have played in your suffering.”

Caleb reaches up to Essek’s hands, where they still rest on his shoulders, and squeezes his hand gently. “You did not know. And--thank you, for speaking with me, for sharing your own story with me, so that I could understand you better.”

“Well, thank you for asking,” Essek grins, and then lets go of Caleb’s shoulders. “Do you think it worked?”

Confusion is apparent on Caleb’s face. “What worked?”

“Our drinking and discussions,” he gestures to the window, where the moon is still full out in the sky. “It is not yet sunrise, but do you think that we may one day we may be able to trust one another again?”

“I think we’ve made a good first step, my friend,” Caleb smiles, as Essek begins digging out his chalk and drawing the teleportation circle on the floor. “And I think we will see many more sunrises together.”

**Author's Note:**

> And then the dragon turtle attacked. The end! ;)


End file.
